


got my body on red alert

by likecharity



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When the cameras are off, it's a different story. Kristen will still blush and twitch and avert her eyes, but Charlize finds that very unhelpful because it's Kristen's typical reaction to a lot of things, and if she only flirts back when they're being filmed, she can't exactly be </i>serious<i>, right?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	got my body on red alert

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Jaime because it is HER FAULT. Though it was also inspired by the fact that Kristen has said that she wants to impress Charlize, and that she finds her hot when she's angry. OKAY KRISTEN. Title from 'Red Alert' by CSS.

Kristen first realizes that the Charlize thing has officially become a Problem when she finds herself actually psyching herself up for an interview with her. She's literally giving herself a pep talk in front of the mirror in the ladies', heart racing and hands clammy as she tells herself repeatedly, _you're gonna be okay, you can totally do this._ It's the same stuff she's been frantically saying in her own head before all the interviews anyway, but needing to say it out loud seems like a new low.

She's not going to lie to herself, she knows it's pretty easy for people to fluster her, but Charlize just—Charlize does it like no one else. It's probably been a Problem before now, actually, because she's not sure what else to call it when she can't force herself to stay _still_ in Charlize's company, buzzing with nervous energy, or when Charlize says 'intercourse' and Kristen completely loses her train of thought, forgets how to speak, turns red. She's not sure she's _ever_ been relaxed in Charlize's presence, actually, so there's a strong possibility it's been a Problem right from the start.

She's just reflecting on that when the sound of a flushing toilet interrupts her, and she whirls round in surprise. She'd been in such a panic that she hadn't noticed one of the stalls was occupied, but now Charlize—fucking Charlize, of _course_ —is sauntering out of it, smirking a little.

"Fuck," Kristen hisses, turning right back around again and steadying herself with her hands braced on the sink, her head hung low.

"So do you need to do that before all your interviews, or just the ones with me?" Charlize asks, coming up to use the sink right beside Kristen.

"All of them," Kristen lies, because it's better for Charlize to believe she's a total nutbag than to think she might have some kind of weird-ass obsession with her.

Kristen doesn't know who she's kidding anymore. She's pretty sure Charlize is aware of both of those things already.

"Aw, I'm not special," laments Charlize, pouting as she washes her hands, and Kristen keeps her lips clamped tightly shut because this weird flirting thing they've got going on might be okay in front of the cameras but when it's just the two of them in an empty, echoey bathroom—it's really not.

 

It's dumb. It's so dumb. Charlize is thirty-fucking-six, she should be able to just tell someone how she feels by now instead of playing this high school game of flirting and teasing forever. But it's like they missed the point where it should have turned into something else, and now they're stuck in a loop, and doing anything to _change_ that feels dangerous. 

And the thing is, if Charlize were sure, she definitely would have done something by now. But Kristen blows hot and cold. In front of the cameras she'll actually _respond_ to the flirting, flat-out saying that she wants Charlize, wants to make out with her—but when the cameras are off it's a different story. Kristen will still blush and twitch and avert her eyes, but Charlize finds that very unhelpful because it's Kristen's typical reaction to a lot of things, and if she only flirts back when they're being filmed, she can't exactly be _serious_ , right? Charlize has to keep trying to stop herself heading into some kind of self-deprecating doubt spiral, but there's only so much longer this can go on before she'll start feeling like a fool. Or like some kind of creepy predatory older woman who won't stop hitting on her co-star even at times when there's absolutely no chance of it boosting ticket sales.

Kristen is just really hard to _read_ sometimes. She gets so antsy in the interviews and that combined with the way she does her fair share of flirting too would usually make Charlize think she;s in with a chance, but it's different when it's just the two of them. Charlize is trying desperately hard to figure her out, her hints getting more and more obvious because she needs to try gauge the reaction, but she's getting to the point where she's not sure what else she can _do_ , she's being so blatant. It makes her think Kristen does recognize it—because _how could she not,_ at this point—and she's ignoring it deliberately. Playing it up for the cameras sometimes, sure, but not wanting it to go any further than that.

 

Kristen is frustrated. She's getting increasingly frustrated, actually, and she's recently realized that it's because there's a part of her, some distant hopeful part, that keeps taking Charlize seriously. And as the press tour goes on, the idea that Charlize might actually _mean_ any of what she's saying becomes more and more ridiculous, which leads to Kristen feeling like even more of an idiot. And it's not fair for Charlize to toy with her like this, to get Kristen so worked up during an interview that she's almost _convinced_ something is going to happen the moment they're alone—and then not follow through. She just keeps it up, the flirtation, the little touches that drive Kristen crazy, but not once does she ever just push her up against a wall and kiss her.

It's not okay.

It's beginning to feel like Charlize has to just be doing it for the hell of it, by now, just enjoying making Kristen squirm, and the more Kristen thinks about it the more convinced she gets. Because Charlize is not shy. If Charlize really wanted her—really, truly wanted her—Kristen's sure she would have fucking done something about it by now. She's bold, she takes what she wants; she would have _done_ something instead of just talking about it.

Today, Kristen is running on about four hours of sleep, which is not enough for her to be able to function like an ordinary human being, so she's cranky. She's high-strung and snapping at people and she has a headache and she really, really does not want to have to do another interview today, but—that's exactly what's on the schedule.

Probably, no one even notices anything different. She's jittery and kind of scowling to herself a lot but everyone says that's her default setting anyway, so whatever. The problem is that even Charlize doesn't seem to pick up on her mood, acting like her usual self, throwing out subtle innuendo that makes Kristen's toes curl and her fists clench. She can't help it, even under a thundercloud that little feeling of hope rises up in her, that devil on her shoulder that says _maybe she means it_ , and as usual, by the time the interview is over, Kristen is in a quiet frenzy.

"Come to the bathroom with me," Charlize lilts once the cameras are switched off, tilting her head, and Kristen follows like an obedient puppy, her heart in her throat.

 _This is it_ , says the stupid part of her—but then they get into the bathroom and all Charlize does is just start touching up her make-up. 

"Fuck, did you see the way he was looking at you?" she says, dabbing on a bit of extra lip-gloss, and Kristen just stares and stares, and thinks about kissing her, and stares some more. "Kris?"

"Huh?" Kristen snaps out of it. "Who?"

"The _interviewer_ ," explains Charlize, like it's obvious.

"What?" Kristen splutters.

"Should've given him your number or something, I bet he would've taken it." Charlize screws the cap back onto her lip-gloss and puts it back in her purse, neatening up her hair in the mirror. "I'm just saying, you should put yourself out there more. He seemed really into you. You ready?"

Kristen clenches her jaw. "You know what, you go on ahead," she grits out. "I'm gonna pee."

"I can wait, if you want," says Charlize, and maybe Kristen is supposed to take her up on that but right now she's too mad and stressed to try figure anything out, so she just shoos Charlize on, tells her she'll see her in the car in a couple of minutes.

She tries to calm herself down, then, to even out her breathing and get her heart rate back to something more normal, but she's seeing red. Charlize is just fucking messing with her at this point, Kristen is sure now, and it's making her feel panicky because she literally _can't_ do this anymore. Another interview like this and she'll just fucking implode or something, it has to _stop_.

So that's how she finds herself stomping out to the car, heaving open the door, throwing herself inside and demanding, "Okay, but—like—what the _fuck?_ "

Charlize looks mildly surprised, but not much else.

"What, was the tampon dispenser out?" she asks. "I hate it when that happens. I might have one in my purse but I think I've been carrying it around in case of emergencies since like 2006, so there's probably an 85% chance it'll give you TSS. Or the Bubonic Plague, man, who knows."

A little laugh bubbles up out of Kristen, and she is very angry about it. "Don't make me laugh when I'm mad at you," she says firmly, and slams the door shut behind her for punctuation.

"Oh, you're mad at _me?_ " Charlize asks, looking curious now. "What did I do?"

"It's not what you did, it's what you _haven't_ done," says Kristen hotly. She's still kind of sitting awkwardly sideways, without her seatbelt on, and the car is setting off but she can't bring herself to think about anything right now except Charlize.

"I don't know if I can apologize for something I haven't done," Charlize says, grinning like this is all still a joke to her, and Kristen wants to—wants to—god, she doesn't even _know_ what she wants to do anymore. She wants everything.

"You're doing it on purpose!" Kristen bursts out, and it sounds whiny and dumb.

"Woah, dude, chill," Charlize tells her, but she looks a little more serious now, and leans forward to press a button so that the dividing screen between them and the driver comes up. "Doing what?"

"Fuckin'— _messing_ me up like this," Kristen says, and her voice is still way too high-pitched and she's making a lot of exaggerated hand gestures that she's not sure are helping her case. "It's not fair, all right? I can't—I can't do confrontation, _fuck_ —"

"You're a natural," smirks Charlize. "Keep going, you're doing good." She makes a 'bring it' gesture with her hands, says, "Now lay it on me, tell me what's not fair."

Kristen glares at her. "That you—look, I can't handle all this press shit at the best of times, like, you have no idea how anxious it makes me—and you're, you're making it even worse," she sounds a little hysterical by now, voice wavering, "and that's, that's fine, if something comes from it, if there's going to be like a reward for it but, if there's not, then I can't—I can't do this anymore, I can't. I can't." Kristen drops her head into her hands, and pathetically adds, "I'm sorry," in a very small mumbled voice.

"A reward?" Charlize says gently. "What do you mean? Like what?"

Kristen feels like she's going to burst right out of her skin. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes for a moment until she sees stars, and then lifts her head, takes a deep breath, forces herself to stare right at Charlize, and says, "Like you _kissing_ me," in a very weak voice.

Charlize looks at her for a moment. And then she unclips her seatbelt, and—lunges. And _yes_ , fuck, finally, their mouths collide and it's sweet and hot and perfect, even with the car swerving a corner and the two of them being jostled around in the backseat. Kristen's lips part and she feels Charlize's tongue, and the kiss is messy but it's _so_ good.

Charlize is breathless when they part, and grinning, and her hands cup Kristen's face. "You were waiting for me? Jesus. I was waiting for you."

"Why the fuck would you wait for _me?_ " Kristen asks despairingly. "Have you even _met_ me?"

Charlize just laughs, and kisses her again, pulling her closer.

 

They have a photoshoot booked, so they don't have a lot of time. They make it into Charlize's hotel room, pretty much falling onto the bed with their limbs all tangled, and there are a frantic few seconds of trying to get into each other's pants—which Charlize thinks is amusing, that they're still struggling with that now when it's basically what they've both been trying to do all this time—and then finally Charlize is sliding her hand into Kristen's panties, feeling her, slick and hot against her fingers.

"Fuck, you're soaking," she breathes, and Kristen sort of whines, bucking her hips up, too distracted by the touch to even think of reciprocating but that's _fine_ , this is all Charlize needs right now, to make Kristen do _that_ , make her back arch and have her work her hips like that so that she's basically fucking herself on Charlize's fingers.

She comes fast, twisting, her head thrown back against the pillows and a flush high in her cheeks, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Way too fucking pretty.

Charlize licks her own hand clean after, still lying on top of Kristen and staring her down, and Kristen groans, pressing a palm to Charlize's chest and pushing her off. She checks the clock and then groans again. "We gotta go."

"I know." Charlize stands up, checking her reflection in the mirror. Kristen only managed to get her belt undone, so she starts to buckle it back up, glancing back over her shoulder at Kristen who's still sprawled across the bed, looking totally fucked-out. "Your wording was interesting, you know," says Charlize.

Kristen furrows her brow, confused. "I think all I said was _oh god, oh fuck, oh my god._ "

"No, not _then_ ," Charlize laughs, turning around, arms folded. Kristen suddenly looks very young. And exposed, somehow, even though she's still fully-clothed. "I mean in the car. That whole 'reward' thing. I still don't even get what you meant by that. You may be a woman of many words, but only about half of them make actual sense."

Kristen makes a face at her, going pink. "Like—" she starts, and then stops, and then starts and stops a few more times until Charlize sits down on the edge of the bed and snaps her fingers, pointing at the clock on the wall to remind Kristen they don't really have enough time for this. Kristen takes a deep breath. "I would—gladly—stumble over my words and blush for an entire _hour_ , if I knew I was gonna get to kiss you at the end of it," she manages finally, staring at her own hands.

"Oh I _see_ ," says Charlize, grinning and trailing her fingers up the length of Kristen's leg, ankle to hip, tracing the outline of it through her jeans, and Kristen squirms, and blushes harder. "Let's see how that works out, then, huh?"

 

It does not work out terribly well. Kristen is even more of a mess in their interviews after that, because the uncertainty is gone, there's weight behind Charlize's words now, Kristen knows she means it. They fuck pretty much whenever they get a chance, which isn't exactly often but it's enough to make it so it's all Kristen can think about, so that when Charlize gives her a look or a sly little comment Kristen just remembers the feeling of her clever fingers, or the soft skin of her breasts, or her _taste_ , and then she's fucking gone, because she knows that as soon as this thing is over they're going to be furiously making out in the nearest room with a lock on the door.

"People might _talk_ , Kristen," Charlize tells her, after a particularly awful interview, leaning in close to whisper. They're in the car but Chris is with them this time, so they have to be subtle. "Do you want them to see how much of an effect I have on you?"

"No," says Kristen, swallowing uneasily and darting a glance at Chris. He's gazing out of the window, but he's not an idiot, she's pretty sure he's picked up on _something_ between them by this point. Maybe Charlize is right, maybe _everyone_ has.

"I think you should try harder to hide your reactions," Charlize continues, "or people are gonna see right through us."

Kristen knows how this conversation probably _should_ go, knows that any normal person would place the blame on Charlize for the things she says, not on Kristen for the way she reacts to them. But—the logic of it doesn't really matter, not when Charlize is talking like that, low, lips so close to Kristen's ear. 

"Okay," she murmurs.

She can hear the smile in Charlize's voice when she repeats, "Okay?" back at her. "You're just gonna do what I say? You're gonna do this for me?"

Kristen squirms. She wants to brush it off, make a joke, but—she's always had this weird thing (ever since she _met_ Charlize) where she wants to impress her. So she just breathes, "Yeah."

Charlize laughs, low and husky in her ear, resting her hand on Kristen's knee. "You are _really_ turned on right now, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Kristen hisses, and elbows her away, smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she stares fixedly out the window.

 

The thing is, it's really not something Kristen can help. That becomes clear, because Charlize knows the girl is really fucking trying here, but her reaction to Charlize is instinctive and inevitable. Charlize tries going easy on her, but the slightest things will get Kristen flustered; the tiniest compliments, the nudge of Charlize's hip, the way she says Kristen's _name_ even. And it was just kind of fun before, really—and all right, it still is, but it feels dangerous now too. Now that there's actually something concrete to it, something going on behind the scenes, there are risks. It's not like Charlize is ashamed of it, really, but it's not something she's ready for anyone to know about, either, and Kristen is making it so _obvious_. 

They make it through another two interviews of Kristen being a nervous wreck and falling all over herself whenever Charlize says pretty much anything to her, and then Charlize kind of loses her patience. It's not—it's not like she's _mad_ , really, just frustrated, starting to freak out a little over the fact that this is even a thing now, and paranoid that something obvious might have changed in their interactions that the general public will pick up on. And as much as she loves the way she can get Kristen so flustered so easily it can also be a little infuriating, to say one little thing and have to watch Kristen stammer and blush for the next five minutes, looking so distressed it's almost painful.

"You need to pull yourself together, man," she snaps, back in Kristen's hotel room after, shrugging off her jacket. "This is getting ridiculous."

She half-expects Kristen to fight back, to blame her for getting her into that state in the first place, or maybe just to whine that she can't help it. She _doesn't_ expect Kristen to look her in the eye and say, totally sincere, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" Charlize says, curiously, but keeping the firm, demanding tone of her voice because it seems to have some kind of _effect_ on Kristen. "What're you sorry for?"

"For—disappointing you?" Kristen says, her breath hitching at the end of the sentence. "Fuck, I don't know, I want—you make me want to be better."

"Yeah? Better at what?" Charlize leans against the wall, crossing her arms.

Kristen is flustered again, running a hand back through her hair, agitated. "I don't—I don't know, just, everything. Whatever you want." The last three words clearly slip out, unbidden, and when Charlize raises her eyebrows at her Kristen covers her face with her hands. "Fuck, I'm sorry, you make me crazy," she half-whimpers, voice muffled against her palms.

Charlize weighs this up. "You're sorry for disappointing me?" She's kind of stuck on that.

"Yeah," Kristen breathes, taking her hands off her face and looking at her. She—god, she looks nervous, and Charlize thinks she pretty much always does, but especially right now.

"You wanna make it up to me?" Charlize asks, jutting her chin, challenging.

"Oh, fuck." Kristen's voice is barely-there, weak. "Yes."

Charlize has never seen her like this, and she's almost worried. She lets her voice lose its harsh tone, leaning forward, offering Kristen a smile. "Are you okay? Is this okay?" she whispers, a little goofily.

Kristen's nod is vehement, almost overly enthusiastic. "Yeah," she says, "yeah, tell me what you want, I'll—" she cuts herself off sharply, but Charlize would wager that sentence was going to end with _do anything_ , and the thought makes her clench her thighs together.

Charlize straightens up, unzipping her skirt and wriggling out of it, kicking it across the carpet. Kristen swallows, watching as Charlize does the same thing with her panties, untangling them from the heels she's still wearing before toeing them out of the way. She doesn't even need to tell Kristen to come to her, Kristen just _does_ , sinking to the floor and grabbing at Charlize's hips as Charlize spreads her legs a little, lets Kristen's face between her thighs. The first eager lick of Kristen's hot tongue makes Charlize's knees buckle and she wishes it didn't, because she has the feeling she's supposed to try remain in control here, but fuck, she's not sure how the hell she's supposed to deal with this—Kristen between her legs like this, on her _knees_ for her.

"Come on, you can do better than that," Charlize says, trying to get a grip, and Kristen pretty much whimpers against her, fingers clutching weakly at Charlize's hips as she strokes with her tongue, quick and needy. 

Charlize can't help but reach out and steady a hand on the back of Kristen's head, her fingers tangling in dark wavy hair and Kristen fucking _looks up at her_ when she does that, eyes clear and bright, and that's what pushes Charlize over the edge. It's over too fast, she wants to make this last but she can't, not with Kristen gazing up at her like that. She moans, too loud but not caring, trembling and coming, pressing herself down against Kristen's mouth as she rides it out. Kristen keeps at it even after, and Charlize has to tug her back, and when she looks down at Kristen's face again, her wide eyes and slick chin, her legs really _do_ give out. Kristen laughs hoarsely as Charlize drops to the floor in front of her and they clutch at each other, swaying slightly as they kiss.

Charlize strokes at Kristen's hair, smoothing it back from her face. "That was—yeah," she says, ashamed that that's all she can come up with, because Kristen deserves so much fucking more.

Kristen's eyes are glinting with amusement. "Don't tell me I've actually managed to make _you_ speechless."

Charlize laughs and it sounds a little manic. "First time for everything, right? Are we even now?"

"Are you _kidding_ me?" blurts Kristen, looking incredulous. "No fucking way. I'm gonna need to do that at least twenty more times."

Charlize just grins. "Fine by me."


End file.
